The Shop on Blossom Street (Blossom Street #1)(78)

Resigned, Margaret sighed heavily. “All right, what is it?”

“I’ve been thinking about what will happen to A Good Yarn.”

Margaret’s expression was painful. “I’ve given that some thought myself. You know I don’t knit, but I’d be willing to step in and—”

“I wouldn’t ask you to do that.” Asking my sister to take over my business hadn’t occurred to me.

“It’s a possibility. Mom and I could trade days.”

Her generosity touched me deeply, and for the first time since I’d entered the hospital, I felt tears clogging my throat and filling my eyes. “I can’t believe you’d be willing to do that.”

Margaret stared at me in surprise. “You’re my sister. I’d do anything I could to help you, including…” She hesitated, drew in a deep breath and looked over her shoulder. “We can talk about this later, all right? Nothing’s for sure, so why don’t we cross that bridge once we get to it.”

“But—”

“You have another visitor.”

I imagined one of my nieces had come with her and looked expectantly toward the door. I’d wanted to settle the future of my yarn shop immediately, but it made sense to wait until Dr. Wilson delivered his verdict. I hadn’t believed I’d survive the second bout of cancer, and I had no illusions about the third. The fight had gone out of me and I was willing to accept my fate.

The awful truth, what I could never say aloud to Margaret or my mother, is that I preferred death over treatment. I felt I couldn’t do this again, couldn’t endure the agony of chemotherapy. I was an adult and capable of making my own decision. Well, I’d made it. I’d decided to refuse treatment and let the cancer take its course. The only person I could discuss this with was Dr. Wilson, and I wouldn’t see him until he’d had a chance to analyze the test results.

“Give me a moment,” Margaret said. She rose from the chair and disappeared into the hallway outside my room.

I was in for a shock when she returned. The visitor she brought in with her wasn’t Julie or Hailey, but Brad. Everything inside me wanted to scream at him to leave and for Margaret to go with him. I couldn’t stand it. One look at the tender concern on Brad’s face, and I reacted like a juvenile, covering my face with both hands. Then, to my horror, I unceremoniously burst into tears.

I felt Brad’s arms come around my shoulders. “You could have told me, you know.”

I dropped my hands and refused to look at him or speak. My fury was focused on my meddling sister. “How could you?” I shouted at her. “How could you?”

“How could you?” she shouted right back. It was as though the room had developed an echo.

Brad interrupted our shouting match. He spoke in a strong, determined voice. “If you’d told me what was wrong we could have talked it out, Lydia.”

“Go away.” I turned to look him straight in the face, although my heart was breaking.

He shook his head. “Sorry, that isn’t going to happen.”

“You don’t have any choice.”

“I’m not letting you drive me away.”

“Don’t you get it?” I cried, and nearly choked on the words. “There’s no future with me.”

Eyes soft, he reached for my hand. “But there’s today and tomorrow and the next day.”

I tilted my chin toward the ceiling. I didn’t understand why everyone had to make this so difficult.

“Lydia,” Margaret said. “Would you stop feeling so damned sorry for yourself and get a grip?”

I didn’t expect anything different from my sister. She wasn’t the one who’d gone through this nightmare. She wasn’t the one who’d suffered weeks of chemotherapy and radiation treatments. My sister acted as though my cancer was a minor inconvenience. As though I should just get over it and deal with life.

“I can’t tell you what the future holds,” Brad said, his gaze earnest, “but I can tell you that whatever happens, I intend to be here, for you and with you.”

I’d heard that before, too. Same words, different year. But after two days of being poked and prodded, I was in no state of mind for an argument. “Please, just leave…I can’t deal with this now.”

Margaret and Brad exchanged glances. They didn’t seem to believe me. Nor did they care what I wanted or needed, because they utterly ignored my request. They gave me no option, so I slammed my hand on the bell to call the nurse.

“What do you need?” A tinny voice rang through the intercom.

“Peace,” I cried. “I need peace and quiet and these people refuse to leave.”

Margaret pinched her lips together and slowly shook her head. And from the grim frown on Brad’s face, it would take the Seventh Cavalry—or one annoyed nurse—to make him vacate my room. I slid down in the bed and rolled over, offering him my back.

“We haven’t finished our discussion,” he said.

I didn’t answer him. As far as I was concerned, I’d already told him everything I intended to. Nothing he said was going to change my mind.

I heard footsteps enter the room.

“We were just leaving,” Margaret told the nurse.

I forced myself not to roll over and watch my sister and Brad walk out.